


legion

by qar



Series: [qar]noor's collection of soft fics [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Big Brother Techno, Bullying, Dadza, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, IRL Fic, Platonic Cuddling, THEY'RE SIBLINGS YOUR HONOR, big brother wilbur, big sister niki, but NOT because i got distracted, no one can resist emotionally adopting tommy, so it's just 6 things, soft, they're just family dynamics your honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:34:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28159137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qar/pseuds/qar
Summary: Tommy seems to bring out the big sibling in everyone. It's fun to watch.Disclaimer:If any of the creators mention they are uncomfortable with these types of fics I will take this down.
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & TommyInnit, Niki | Nihachu & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: [qar]noor's collection of soft fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1961299
Comments: 70
Kudos: 2394





	legion

**Author's Note:**

> wilbur's part is a continuation of almost home, one of my previous works. you don't HAVE to read it first, but this fic has a lot of references to it, as well as the universe most of my IRL Fics are set in!!

1\. Fundy

Fundy expresses, a few hours into the day, that Tommy’s a much sweeter kid than expected. 

It’s true. As brash and callous as he seems on stream, he’s actually careful, and kind, even though he tries his best to hide it. Fundy’s been watching him closely throughout the day, despite Wilbur and Phil being assigned the official adults of the meet-up. It’s kind of adorable, really; Tommy seems to enjoy living in the moment.

It’s fascinating how different he is in real life. He’s definitely still as loud- Wilbur’s volume automatically seems to increase to match his, and they wander to and fro Brighton’s streets yelling lines from Hamilton; Niki, Phil, David and Charlie trail behind, and Fundy’s knee-deep in a conversation with the latter. The others have been treating him and Niki carefully- both of them are still exhausted from their flights, and Fundy’s disposition isn’t exactly sunny right now, despite how much he wants it to be. The others don’t seem to mind, even if Tommy jabs them a little; and when Fundy notices Tommy’s voice getting softer and almost unnoticeably more nervous when he approaches him, phone in hand, he’ll admit it makes his heart melt slightly. 

Tommy’s definitely a lot calmer, Fundy decides, when he isn’t recording. It’s like the teenager had said to Wilbur, earlier, when they’d been walking; he wanted to experience it first. He’s a person to take value in sentiment rather than worth, and it’s something everyone’s noticed- like his discs in Minecraft, or the vlog guns he’s holding when all of them are draped over various pieces of furniture in Wilbur’s living room.

Wilbur’s on the coffee table, legs dangling off and head tipped back, and Fundy can see the reflection of Twitter’s UI in his glasses. Niki’s curled under a blanket in an armchair, eyes staring, glazed, at the movie that’s playing. Phil’s on the opposite end of the couch that Fundy’s on, leaning against the armrest, and Kristin’s retired to bed early. Tommy’s next to him, holding a throw pillow to his chest, staring sleepily at the screen- it’s Up, which Wilbur’d put on without Tommy even asking. Fundy can see his eyelids drooping. He’d also seen the boy tear up when Ellie died, although he wouldn’t mention it.

It’s warm in Wilbur’s apartment- no one’s really sure why Niki’s wearing a blanket, but she is, and it makes the atmosphere a lot cozier. The sound of Carl and Russell arguing echoes softly around the room, and Fundy untucks his legs from where they’d been getting numb under him and stretches. Wilbur’s absently mouthing along with Carl, and Phil yawns from across the sofa. It’s peaceful, despite barely being 10; Fundy’d honestly expected to be kept up till the early hours of the morning, and he takes a moment to thank fuck that it’s quiet.

Next to him. Tommy slowly slides forwards, having finally fallen asleep. His blond hair sinks into the throw pillow that’s slowly falling out of his grasp, and Fundy watches, amused, as his phone hits the floor with a quiet thump.

Phil’s watching, too, and unlike Fundy, who’s a sadistic bastard, he sits up and pulls Tommy gently by the shoulder to lean against the sofa. The kid mumbles a bit, and stirs, but doesn’t react as Phil stands up and moves to leave. Fundy stares, curious, as he buries his face into Wilbur’s couch. He looks like he’s going to fall over.

“Retiring for the night,” Phil says, quietly. “Someone make sure Tommy doesn’t die.”

“Night, Phil,” Wilbur murmurs, eyes flickering up from his phone. “I’ll try.”

He doesn’t move, and neither do any of the others. Niki’s eyes crinkle as Dug appears on screen. Wilbur continues to mouth the words, still scrolling. Tommy shifts, and Fundy stops observing the room to look at him.

The boy’d mentioned, earlier, how he hadn’t slept much the last night, still high off the happiness of meeting one of his best friends and excited for the next day; and it’d been clear the moment he hit the couch. Maybe it was the oddly comfortable atmosphere of Wilbur’s house, or maybe it was the warmth of people around him, or the plush sofa. But, honestly, it’s the most peaceful Tommy’s ever looked in front of Fundy, so he’ll take it. 

Kevin shows up on screen. Wilbur’s eyes drift away from his phone, and he stares at the screen as well. Niki flicks his ear with her foot as she hauls it under her blanket. Tommy slides again- this time, slowly, onto Fundy’s shoulder, and Fundy sighs.

He’s here, now, with this child breathing into his neck, light hair tickling his cheek, and of course- of course he’s in charge of the baby. No matter that Wilbur and Phil were the adults here, Fundy was left to take care of the kid. And _sure,_ maybe he could just say Wilbur’s name and ask him to take over being-tommy’s-pillow duty- but he was _lazy_ , alright, and tired from the flight, and maybe he was a little soft for the kid right now- but that was no one’s business. 

He pushes Tommy off of him, gently, and removes his arm before letting the boy drop back against his side. Tommy blinks, a little, but doesn’t wake up, and Fundy sighs and gives in to instinct and wraps his arm around the youngest. He’s pressed against Fundy, throw pillow in lap, arms holding himself, and Fundy’s brain melts. How the fuck- Fundy’d never thought he’d be soft for _Tommyinnit,_ of all people, or wrap his arm around the boy voluntarily, but here they are. Tommy just seemed to bring out the big brother in everyone. It was entertaining to watch.

The movie plays on, and Fundy dozes off, watching the movie go by incoherently; when he wakes up properly, an hour later, the television is on a menu screen, Niki’s gone- probably to a bed- and Wilbur’s fallen asleep, somehow, on the table. Fundy prays for his spine.

Tommy’s still there, and he’s moved closer to Fundy in the short time they’ve both been asleep, and Fundy sighs, internally, again before squeezing the teenager’s shoulder. God-fucking-damn-it, he’s getting too nice. He’ll bother Tommy on call later to make up for it.

2\. Niki

Tommy isn’t confusing, despite Niki’s first impression of him.

Even now, he’s a little rude and brash on stream- and people seem to want her to hate him for it. She doesn’t. He’s a kid, and Niki can tell he’s trying; people seem to latch onto the absent insults and consistent talking while he’s live in front of hundreds of thousands of people, and how his massive demeanor seems to take over the whole room. 

They ignore how he’ll stop in the middle of a sentence and ask for her opinion, or step back and let her plan the next move in the DreamSMP. They haven’t even seen him off-stream- how he’ll be quiet in a voice call full of people, some days, just listening to the chaos while finishing homework or editing, or how he’ll beam when their cameras are turned on. They haven’t heard Wilbur talking about him. He’s so proud of the kid, and Niki loves them both for it.

So she likes Tommy, and she treats him how she thinks she’d treat a little brother, because he’s trying his best and Niki isn’t going to blame him if he messes up sometimes. He doesn’t deserve the hate he gets, and Niki knows it must take a toll, both online and in real life.

She’s in a voice call with Wilbur and Eret one day- she’s just finished streaming, and the two are bantering while she watches and slowly closes her recording equipment, making sure to save her files. Eret’s gone to go grab something, and Niki and Wilbur are in the midst of a conversation when there’s the sound of someone joining the call. There’s a short pause as Wilbur presumably checks who’s joined.

“Hi, Tommy!” Wilbur says, cheerfully. “What brings you here? Don’t you have a stream in twenty?”

“I do,” Tommy replies, short. Niki blinks. “Are any of you streaming?”

“No,” she says. “None of us.”

“Niki, I am going to call you,” Tommy says, sounding off. Wilbur splutters. 

“We were having a conversation!” He says. “Oh.” 

Tommy’s left the voice call. Niki’s… very confused. “Do you think something’s wrong?” she asks Wilbur. 

“I have… no clue,” Wilbur replies. “I mean- usually he comes to me if something is. Maybe it’s a girl thing.”

“Maybe,” Niki responds, although she’s pretty sure Tommy’d be too awkward to ask her about girl things. “I’ll go join his call.”

She does so, pulling her legs up to her chair until she’s comfortable. Tommy’s waiting in the call. She’s as curious as she is concerned.

“Hi, Tommy,” she says softly as she joins. “Is something wrong?”

“I need your help,” Tommy says, sounding both flat and nervous. “You wear makeup, right?”

“Yes.” she replies; she’d done it earlier today, in fact. “What, are you doing makeup for the stream?”

“Kind of,” he says, and wow, she’s really curious now. His icon is replaced by a loading screen, and Niki turns on her camera as well.

There’s a bruise on his face. Niki gasps, covering her mouth with her hand, and sits up straighter. “What happened?”

“I- I, uh, tripped,” Tommy says, looking to the side. Niki opens her mouth, half to call bullshit and half to assure him that he doesn’t have to tell her- but Tommy continues. “Oh- fuck it, I got punched and I have a stream in twenty minutes and this makeup isn’t cooperating with me.” He’s holding someone’s concealer, and waves it to emphasize his point.

Niki frowns, concerned, and shifts herself higher in her chair. The bruise is somewhere between red and purple, and she doesn’t doubt it hurts- but, of course, the main problem is that he has to stream in barely twenty minutes, and his face is fucking tie-dyed. “What else do you have?” She’ll get the makeup going before she asks him _what the fuck_ happened to get him punched.

He holds up several palettes and bottles, and Niki spots a palette of bronzer, highlighter, green color corrector and contour; it doesn’t look like it’s in the best condition but the color corrector’s barely used. She points it out, and Tommy fumbles for it, dropping several other products on the table in his haste.

“Why’s there green shit?” Tommy asks, flipping open the lid and poking said green shit. Niki smiles.

“It’s called color corrector,” she says. “You put that over any- any redness, or bruising, and you put foundation or concealer over it. Hides bruises and pimples and stuff.”

He nods, looking at it. His movements are stilted, and awkward, Niki notes, in a very nervous fashion. They’re the movements of someone who thinks they’re going to be in trouble- and sure, people will be in trouble, but not _Tommy._

She tells him how to apply the color corrector, and he does, quietly, wincing whenever he presses too hard. Niki watches, carefully, and makes sure everything’s well covered; it probably isn’t good to put makeup over bruised skin, but Tommy is nothing if not stubborn and Niki knows he’ll stream whether or not his face is fucked up. She’d might as well take care of him.

Once the bruises are sufficiently covered, she guides him to the foundation- he’s lucky his mom’s makeup matches him, and that she’d _left_ it today. Niki doesn’t want to imagine Tommy’s panic if she hadn’t.

“You- you don’t wipe,” Niki says, watching Tommy. “You dab. You pat it so that it’s opaque.”

“I like your big words, magic- magic lady,” Tommy mutters, staring at himself in a little compact mirror and dabbing way too hard. It’s working though, slowly, and Niki watches as parts of the bruise slowly fade to skin color.

“What happened?” Niki asks, before he decides to weasel out of the call. “You said you got punched.”

“I was lying- I wasn’t lying,” Tommy sighs, eyes flickering up to the camera. His hands are smudged with green and foundation. “Uh- people at my school found out about my channel. Again.” He looks defeated, and tired, as he continues to dab. His hand moves to a patch higher up on his cheek. “They wanted me to have a bruise this stream, or not stream at all, and fuck if I let that happen.”

She watches him for a minute more, and he draws his knees up as well, curling into his chair uncomfortably. His face looks almost normal, and Tommy stares at the mirror, scouting out the places he’s missed. “What are you going to do about it?” Niki asks, because if she knows anything about Tommy it’s that he’s stubborn and he’s going to deal with his problems _somehow_.

“We’re moving soon,” Tommy replies, slowly. “Mum and Dad found a job in Brighton. Phil lives really close to the houses we’re looking at. Wilbur too. And I’ll be going to a new school.”

“That’s good to hear,” Niki says, genuinely happy about the revelation. “You’ll be able to see the others more. By your ear.”

Tommy pauses for a second as he observes his side, and pats his cheek with more foundation. At the rate he’s neatly smearing it on, it’ll be finished in a week. Niki hopes this is a one-off. Tommy doesn’t deserve to be hurt.

“Why would they hurt you?” she asks, quietly. There’s five minutes left for him to go live, and his face looks basically normal, and Niki’s-

“Think I’m annoyin’ and shit,” Tommy shrugs, leaning back. He’s still sitting, as Phil would describe it, like a gremlin. “Don’t understand how I got so many subscribers or why people like me.”

Niki’s blood is _boiling,_ and she resists the urge to ask Tommy for his address, fly over and punch whoever’d hit this kid harder than they hit Tommy. And that would definitely be satisfying as fuck, and she’s this close to actually asking Tommy, when-

“Oh, I have to stream now,” Tommy says. There’s a significant change in the boy’s voice; it shifts from the quiet, muted tone he’s been using the past day, and shifts higher into his okay-im-recording voice. “Does it look okay?”

The boy turns on the lights behind his camera, and his face is illuminated. He looks okay, and the bruises are almost unnoticeable. “Don’t touch your face too much!” Niki says, and smiles at him when he ruffles his hair. He’s definitely picked that up from Wilbur. “If anyone notices any redness, blame it on a cold.”

“Got it,” Tommy says, and smiles at her, full and bright. Niki’s heart warms. “You can join me in the stream, if you want. Just- you have to talk over me, sometimes, I don’t mind.”

“It’s okay,” Niki says, laughing. “Go start your stream. I’ll join you in a bit.” 

3\. Techno

Techno isn’t expecting a call from Tommy anytime soon, but he’s free when he receives it so there’s _probably_ no harm in picking up.

“Hi,” Tommy says breathlessly when he picks up. “I’m packing. Help.”

Tommy’s icon is replaced by a loading screen, and Techno leans his chin into his hands, pushing away a stack of books he hasn’t read in years and hasn’t bothered to move. “Hey, Tommy.”

“Hi, Technoblade,” Tommy repeats as his camera shutters into view. The teenager’s standing in his room, clutter piled around his feet and a box in his arms. Probably explains the breathlessness. “I’m moving.”

“I noticed,” Techno retorts, leaning forwards to turn his camera on out of courtesy. “How much shit do you have left?”

“Everything,” Tommy sighs, placing the box down on his bed next to a suitcase and dropping to the floor, knees crossed. He lands in a pile of clothes and stretches out. “There is just so much shit to do, Blade.”

“I am the _last_ person you should be asking for help,” Techno says humorously. “You know how much I put things off. I wouldn’t pack until like- the day I moved.”

“We’re in the same boat here, big man. Plus I think everyone’s busy.” Tommy rolls over so he’s facedown into another pile. “Life is hard, Techno.”

“That it is. Stand up,” Techno says, and watches as Tommy slowly pulls himself up, sitting on his knees and burying his head in his knees. “How much did you sleep last night?”

“Like- like an hour,” Tommy groans. “I was trying to pack. Got distracted.”

Techno sighs. Tommy’s used to getting decent amounts of sleep, and dealing with a sleep deprived Tommy is like dealing with an emotional toddler. He doesn’t mind very much. “Can you get a nap in?”

Tommy stands up, cracking his back uncomfortably. Techno winces at his posture. His isn’t that much better. “Nope,” he says. “I wanna get this done soon.”

Techno lets out a low, ingenuine groan. “Get your clothes done with first.”

He watches, for almost an hour, as Tommy empties out his closets and steadily folds and puts away piles upon piles of clothes. Too many of them are red and white T-shirts. Tommy slowly fills up two large suitcases with clothes and a box with random objects, sorting them neatly to fit. They engage in absent conversation the entire time. The teenager seems more subdued than usual.

“There’s my MCC coin,” he says, picking it up off his desk and placing it in the box. “Did you ever get around to opening yours?”

“Never,” Techno says, and laughs. “I haven’t unboxed the plaque either.”

“Jesus Christ, Techno!” Tommy grins at his camera before moving out of frame. He returns with a plaque. “This is my pride and joy. Your pride and joy is in a box.”

“What can I say,” Techno says. “My self worth is more than a piece of metal.”

Tommy flips him off. Techno flips him off back. Tommy returns to where he was located off camera. There’s rummaging and crinkling from where he’s standing, and Techno listens in vague interest, staring down at his desktop. Then there’s a sniffle- and then a _very_ heartbreaking whimper. Techno stares blankly at Tommy’s video. There’s still no one on screen.

“Tommy?” he calls. “Tommy, get on camera.”

There’s a short minute of hesitation before the boy moves into camera, rubbing his eyes with the sleeves of his sweatshirt. Techno crinkles his nose. “Please get a tissue, that’s unhygienic,” he says, before remembering that- shit, the child’s crying. “What’s wrong?”

Tommy hiccups. Something twists in Techno’s gut. “I don’t know,” the boy says. “I- I don’t want to move. I don’t understand why they’re so fucking _mean_.”

“Who’s mean?” Techno asks, sheepishly, almost, because he should probably know this. “What- is it school?” 

Tommy nods, and coughs, waterily. “I’m sorry,” he says. His face is bright red- both from crying and embarrassment, probably. “It’s just- stressful. I _hate_ them.”

“Don’t apologise,” Techno says, desperately thinking of something to say. He’s not good at comforting at all, especially when he’s comforting a teenager who’s crying about something that Techno has no knowledge about. “Bullies?”

“Yeah,” Tommy mumbles, head still buried in his hands. “I don’t fucking get it.”

Techno sighs. He- he’s not sure what the fuck to do here. Tommy’s not one to be vulnerable too often- especially not in front of Techno, awkward idol extraordinaire. He’s this close to calling Wilbur into the call when he remembers that the older man’s out filming his new music video. He’s probably not going to pick up. “Don’t let them get to your head, Tommy. You’re better than all of them.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” Tommy mumbles, lowering his hands. “They literally- they made me _move,_ Techno. They made me delete my first channel. They-” His face crumples. “I don’t _know.”_

“Well,” Techno says, floundering completely noticeably. “You did say your parents got a job there, too, right?” 

Tommy nods, eyes and cheeks red. Techno continues. “So, I mean- you were going to move anyway. You getting bullied by some random asshole hasn’t made you move, it just prioritised it. And look how far this channel’s gotten. You’re so much better than them.”

Tommy goes quiet for a minute, patting his face dry with his sleeve. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that,” he says, then lets out a half-hearted giggle. “You’re shit at this.”

“You’re the one crying, you can’t shit-talk me,” Techno grumbles. “No- but really. I know we don’t talk about serious stuff that often but- you can come to me, you know that? I’m not gonna judge you or anything.”

Tommy frowns, contemplatively, tucking blond hair behind his ear. “Huh,” he says. “That’s- that’s cool, I think.”

“It’s definitely cool,” Techno confirms. “Just don’t talk to me about women. I have no advice there.”

“I noticed,” Tommy says, and laughs when Techno grumbles at him.

4\. Wilbur

The rain has lulled during the drive from Tommy’s new school to Wilbur’s apartment, but the sky’s still heavy with clouds and there’s no slivers of sunlight. The streets are filling up with water, too fast for even the drainage system to handle, and by the time Wilbur’s parks in his lane the water is several inches deep and probably incredibly gross. The wrapper of the cookie he and Tommy’d shared is still on the dashboard, and Wilbur crumples it up and puts it in his pocket.

There’s lots of things he needs to take; there’s two towels in the back, one of which is soaked, and his thermos is sitting in the cup holder, and then there’s Tommy, who’s fast asleep in the passenger seat, head tilted down and arms crossed over the turtleneck Wilbur’d given him. He looks tired, hair- despite Wilbur’s aggressive drying- plastered to his forehead, jeans still soaked. Wilbur hates to wake him up, really, and make him leave the heating of the car’s plush seats for the dreary weather outside- but Wilbur didn’t want to risk carrying him with so much water in the streets, and he sure as hell isn’t going to leave the kid here to catch a fever.

So he shakes back the need to leave Tommy be, and ruffles a hand through his hair; and Tommy jerks awake, blinking, and Wilbur grins at him. 

“We’re here,” Wilbur says. “Don’t get out yet.”

Wilbur lets the boy gather himself as he grabs the towels, the thermos and the umbrella he’d stashed between his seat and the center console. It’s still raining outside- definitely not as heavy as earlier, because that’d been fucking torrential; instead, it’s light enough that Wilbur can stick his legs out of the car and open the umbrella without immediately getting drenched. 

He makes his way to the passenger seat, where Tommy’s still blinking, incoherent, and opens the door. There’s a foot of road between the car and the sidewalk, and Wilbur nudges Tommy’s sneaker with his desert boots when they almost plunge straight into gross roadside water, and pushes them onto the sidewalk.

He can tell Tommy’s still sleepy by the way he hasn’t said a word, and how he keeps _blinking_ ; so he reaches over and hauls the boy gently out of his seat himself, and pulls him close to his side so that he’s fully under the umbrella, and slowly, carefully, pulls them both up the stairs.

Wilbur’s house is empty and dark, and he leaves the umbrella on the porch, hooked around the banister. He leads Tommy towards the couch and pushes him down gently, knowing that his jeans are going to leave watery stains but not particularly caring. Tommy’s head lolls back against the couch, sleepily, as Wilbur kneels down and pulls off his shoes, which are still drenched above the soles. There’s clothes on the sofa- they were too small for him, now, but Wilbur just knows they’ll hang off of Tommy’s gangly frame.

He shakes Tommy’s shoulder with a gentle hand. The boy groans, sounding exhausted, and leans into his touch. “Wilb’r- Wil, let me sleep,” he slurs, cheek pressed against the sofa. Wilbur laughs and runs a hand through his hair. 

“Go change, Tommy,” he says. “Bathroom down the hall. C’mon. Up!”

He hoists Tommy up once the boy’s coherent enough to look at him without his eyes falling shut, wrapping a hand around Tommy’s waist and guiding him, gently, toward the powder room. Tommy leans against him, damp clothes dampening his own, and Wilbur carefully places the dry sweater and sweatpants onto the back of the toilet. 

“I’ll be in the living room,” he says quietly, letting the boy go. He stands, dazed, for a moment as Wilbur looks at him in concern. He waves it off with a subdued smile.

Wilbur ambles over to his room, flicking on light switches and the radiator on his way. He takes a quick moment to towel down his legs and change into comfortable clothes- he’d been out when Tommy’d called, and the bottom of his jeans had started to stick to him, damp with rain that had angled due to the wind. His sweater’s also wet- Tommy leaning on him hadn’t done wonders on his dryness factor. 

Tommy’s re-collapsed onto the sofa when he returns, curling into the couch cushions. It’s the same couch he’d fallen asleep on Fundy on, the first time they’d met in person. Wilbur smiles fondly at the memory, moving over to the other couch, grabbing a blanket he’d left there and settling down next to the teenager. 

“You’re supposed to have a stream soon,” Wilbur murmurs to him, running a hand through the boy’s hair. Tommy mumbles something incoherent and shifts so he’s leaning against Wilbur’s chest. He’s pretty obviously mostly asleep. “Should I call it off for you?”

An almost unnoticeable nod into his sweater, and Wilbur reaches over to the teenager’s phone and unlocks it with his fingerprint. His lockscreen is an image of Tommy making a face. His homescreen switches between a picture of him and his real-life friends, him and Tubbo, and a picture from the first Brighton meetup. 

He opens Twitter and tweets something that's very Tommy- maybe a bit too Tommy, really, but he was an odd kid, no one would notice- calling off today’s stream. He sends Tommy’s mother a quick message; once she’s replied in affirmative, he settles back into the warm couch cushions, Tommy curled into his front, and closes his eyes.

5\. Tubbo

In all honesty, Tubbo isn’t in the best mood right now.

His day’s been okay- nothing _bad_ has happened, and that’s- that’s probably the definition of okay, right? But his mood’s been off the entire day, and people have _definitely_ noticed; he hasn’t laughed as much, today, or had his ‘Tubbo Moments,’ and Tommy’s little bits have just _annoyed_ him today, as much as he hates to say it.

And either Tommy notices, during the stream, or maybe Tubbo’s just really lucky- because Tommy seems to tone down on the chaos, after the first time Tubbo _almost_ snaps at him. He’s _really_ glad Tommy’s toned it down, because the last thing he wants to do today is snap at the younger boy.

Tommy’s one of his best friends, of course; their dynamic’s a little strange, but then again, Tubbo’s also pretty strange. People seem to portray him as an innocent kid with a boisterous best friend, but in all honesty they’re both as outgoing as each other, though Tubbo shows it less. The early days were filled with hate for Tommy’s absent need to say “Shut up, Tubbo,” or cuss him out, and people seemed to ignore how Tubbo _didn’t mind_ , or how Tommy’d soften when it became too much, or how he’d go along with all of Tubbo’s strange bits, albeit with a confused laugh, because that was just Tommy’s character. 

They’ve both ended stream early today; Tubbo’s streamed for much shorter than usual, because if he went on for too long he’d definitely end up angry at _somebody_. Tommy’s still being relatively quiet and gentle over call; careful, like Tubbo’s glass, and Tubbo appreciates it. It’s an abnormally casual stream, and Tubbo takes a moment to bask in Tommy’s more laid-back demeanor that he rarely shows.

“Sorry for being snappish today,” he says, once he’s feeling courageous enough to speak without crying. “I-I’m having a bit of a bad day.”

Tommy smiles at him, softly, through the Discord call. “It’s okay, Big T,” he says, genuinely. “You deserve a break some days.”

Tommy’s his best friend, and he’s loud and brash a lot of the time, but some days he’s gentle, and kind, and understanding, and vulnerable, even though he tries to hide it. And Tubbo understands why; the younger boy is growing at an astonishing rate, and of course the fame would scare him. Nowadays, his quiet, calm side is reserved only for Tubbo and Wilbur and Phil and Techno. 

“It’s just- I’ve been in a _terrible_ mood,” Tubbo says, expressively. “And it makes me so angry. It’s annoying.”

Tommy’s quiet for a bit as Tubbo rambles on, and his face crinkles up when Tubbo adds little light-hearted statements and the corners of his mouth turn down when he says something particularly self depreciating. He’s a good listener, some days, and it never fails to surprise.

“I’m sorry,” Tubbo repeats. “I should- I should hold back. I don’t want to snap at you.”

Tommy shifts, somewhere between uncomfortable and awkward. “We all have bad days,” he says, encouragingly. “You don’t have to just hold back, you know. That’s probably unhealthy. But then again, I don’t have any place to say that.”

Tubbo laughs, brain slowly starting to drag itself out of it’s sad state. “You’re the most unhealthy person I know.”

“Shut up,” Tommy says, but his words are dripping with fondness. “You can just message me when you want me to tone it down, you know. We can just have a chill stream.”

Tubbo smiles at the younger. “I might take you up on that.” He rubs his eyes, exhausted, dark hair falling into his vision. He hears Tommy sigh. 

“You’re my best friend,” Tommy says, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. “And- I hate to say this- I care about you a lot. And I hate to say this even more, but your wellbeing is more important than some bits and clout.”

Tubbo looks up from rubbing his eyes. Tommy’s face is red, and his face is pinched, like he’s going to continue. He opens his mouth before Tubbo can get a word in. 

“I’m- really mean to you, sometimes,” he says, slowly. “A lot. But you mean a lot to me. You shouldn’t have to deal with me being annoying if you don’t want to.”

Tubbo’s heart melts, a bit, because _here’s_ the soft, vulnerable Tommy he hasn’t seen in a while. “You aren’t annoying,” he assures. “You’re a bit of a bitch sometimes, but I would tell you if I couldn’t handle it.”

Tommy hums, reaching over to fiddle with his setup the way he does when he’s nervous, and clears his throat. “Wanna play PUBG with me?”

It’s such a clear, obvious attempt to cheer him up that it leaves Tubbo smiling at his camera. Tommy’s a bit of an asshole a lot of the time but he cares so much and tries so hard and it makes Tubbo’s bad mood melt away like frost in the sun. “Yeah, sure,” he says, and then, sincerely, “Thank you.”

Tommy ducks away from the camera. Tubbo grins.

6\. Phil

It’s odd to live so close to friends he’s made online, Phil observes. 

Tommy had moved to Brighton only a bit after Phil had, and the boy has gotten incredibly close to him. He’s bonded with Tommy’s parents, and he’s unofficially something akin to Tommy’s third parent. No one minds this arrangement.

Tommy’s parents are out for a week, visiting family a few cities away. Tommy’s elected to stay by his own accord. Phil’s elected to make sure that Tommy doesn’t fucking die. Today, though, Phil’s stolen Tommy from his sad, empty house- no matter how often Phil checks in or just stays over, he thinks Tommy just prefers staying over at Phil’s. When he does stay at his own house, though, Phil takes him out often.

They’re at the piers today. The weather’s almost good- cloudy, like it seems to be constantly in Brighton, but the sun seems to shine through the clouds more often than usual. Phil’s bought them ice cream- four Cornettos, two for each of them. There was something very cursed about eating two ice creams in the same sitting. Tommy’s taken that as a challenge; he’s holding a cone in each hand. Phil laughs as liquified ice cream drips down Tommy’s hand. 

They pass the arcade they’d gone to when they all first met up. Tommy looks inside, longingly, hair falling into his face. Phil reaches up and tucks it away, grinning. “You aren’t stepping into that arcade with the ice cream,” he says. “Finish it first.”

“You can’t judge me off my bad decisions,” Tommy grumbles, licking his hand before the sugar drips onto his shirt. “You shouldn’t have let me eat two cones at once.”

“I told you not to, you fucking gremlin,” Phil says, watching with a smile on his face. “C’mon. Let’s sit at the end. We can go to the arcade when you’re finished.”

Phil drops down at the edge of the pier neatly, laying his second cone down beside him and dangling his legs off the side. Tommy stands next to him, awkwardly, before dropping down unsteadily with no hands free to balance him. Phil grabs him by the free hand before he tips backwards. “You should have finished a cone first, Jesus.”

“I do what I want,” Tommy retorts, but leans his elbow into Phil’s grasp as he settles himself comfortably on the wood. They’re sitting behind the chains that separate the walkway from the steep drop into the ocean, legs hanging off the edge.

The air around the water is frigid, heavy with evaporated water. Phil tucks his jacket closer to himself. “Why’d I let you make me buy ice cream?” he asks, biting the cone. Tommy snickers next to him.

“You’re the one that bought two each,” he says. He finishes one of the cones with a snap. “God, I love the chocolate at the end.”

“It’s not very good chocolate,” Phil says. “Kind of shitty.”

“You’re kind of shitty,” Tommy says. “That was a joke.”

“I assumed,” Phil says. He turns back to the water. The area under them is inky black and swirling. Phil ducks under the chains to peer down. Tommy follows suit, and Phil pushes him back towards the pier.

“I’d have to deal with so much paperwork if you fell off,” he jokes. “Sit back.”

Tommy does so, shifting back. He finishes the second cone. Phil pulls out a wipe from his jacket and offers it to the teenager.

“Who keeps wipes in their pockets,” Tommy grumbles, opening the packet and cleaning off his hands. “That’s so old of you.”

“Fuck off,” Phil says. A wave crashes against the supports of the pier. He bites off another chunk of the cone. Tommy shudders as cold wind blows through the area and leans into Phil’s side. Phil wraps an arm around his shoulders, watching the boy tighten his jacket around himself. “You’re a good kid.”

“I know,” Tommy replies, but Phil can see the way the blush that’s covered his cheeks due to the cold spreads to his ears. “I’m the best.”

Phil hums in agreement. “You have people who care about you, y’know?” he asks.

He watches the teenager look down, eyes fixed on the murky water surrounding the pier. He can feel Tommy sorting, calculating, filing through memories. “Yeah,” he breathes, and that’s the end of that conversation.

**Author's Note:**

> this is officially the best fic i've ever written. just . my favorite ever
> 
> this was supposed to be a 5+1!!! but my brain just wanted tommy being emotionally adopted by everyone. so i provided. after a long, long period of procrastination and sleep deprivation. currently 4 am pog
> 
> here's the Discord link if you'd like to join (it's very pleasant, we're almost at 200 members!!): https://discord.gg/w9CwSK26mm  
> (just copy paste it into a browser)
> 
> kudos, comments and bookmarks are always appreciated :) Stay safe everybody <3


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